aying which, he opened the door and led the way inside, first
through a little vestibule into a square hall, where we deposited our
fur coats, and then to the right, into a small room furnished with a
table, an old pine bench, a single chair, a case with glass doors
containing white jars and glass bottles having Latin labels, and
smelling dreadfully of doctor's stuffs.

"I always come through here," said my host, "after passing the town. It
gives the olfactories a new sensation. This, you observe, is the place
where I physic the people."

"Have you many patients, Doctor?" I inquired.

"Not very many; but, considering that I go sometimes a hundred miles or
so to see the suffering sinners, I have quite enough to satisfy me. Not
much competition, you know. But come, we have some lunch waiting for us
in the next room, and Sophy will be growing impatient."

A lady, eh?

The room into which the Doctor ushered me was neatly furnished. On the
walls were hung some prints and paintings of fruits and animals and
flowers, and in the centre stood a small round table covered with dishes
carefully placed on a snowy cloth.

All very nice, but who's Sophy?

The Doctor tinkled a little bell, the tones of which told that it was
silver; and then, all radiant with smiles and beaming with good-nature,
Sophy entered. A strange apparition.

"This is my housekeeper," said the Doctor, in explanation; "speak to the
American, Sophy."

And, without embarrassment or pausing for an instant, she advanced and
bade me welcome, addressing me in fair English, and extending at the
same time a delicate little hand, which peeped out from cuffs of
eider-down. "I am glad," said she, "to see the American. I have been
looking through the window at him ever since he left the ship."

"Now, Sophy," said the Doctor, "let us see what you have got us for
lunch."

"O, I haven't anything at all, Doctor Molke," answered Sophy; "but I
hope the American will excuse me until dinner, when I have some nice
trout and venison."

"'Pot-luck,' as I told you," exclaimed my host. "But never mind, Sophy,
let's have it, be it what it may." And Sophy tripped lightly out of the
room to do her master's bidding.

"A right good girl that," said the Doctor, when the door was closed.
"Takes capital care of me."

Strange Sophy! A pretty face of dusky hue, and a fine figure attired in
native costume, neatly ornamented and arranged with cultivated taste.
Pantaloons of mottle